^:-sr-* 


■\i^ 


<-M 


Jt^-  •'>■ 


:i-...->  ^^ ., 


1*^, 


^^'  > 


4...n 


^-^% 


vW-l 


,^.4   7 


..-I**' 


i£\rnydmin  Jdr  tClbrrlrr 


1! 


/jt^  /^/C^  /n^  A^/^--^-^^  /^--^ 


thp: 


BEGINNINGS    OF    HINDU    PANTHEISM 


9ln  9H)t)res0 

DELIVERED    AT    THE    TWENTY-SECOND    ANNUAL    MEETING 
OF   THE   AMERICAN  PHILOLOGICAL   ASSOCIATION, 


Sr-ATER   Memorial   Hall   of   the   Free   Academy  at   Norwich, 
CoNXECTicuT,  July  8,  1890, 


BY    THE   PRESIDENT, 

CHARLES   ROCKWELL   LANMAN, 

PnOFESSOR     OF    SANSKRIT     IN     HARVARD    UNIVERSITY. 


CAMBRIDGE,  MASS,  U.  S  A 

C  II  A  R  L  E  S     W .     S  E  V  E  R. 
July,  1890. 


Mnibtrsitg  Press: 

JOHN    WILSON    AND    SON,    CAMBRI 


■y  ,.^ " 


i^ 


THE 

BEGINNINGS    OF    HINDU    PANTHEISM. 


Members  of  the  Association: 

IT  is  twenty-one  years  ago  this  month  that  the  convention 
assembled  at  Poughkeepsie  which  organized  the  Ameri- 
can Philological  Association.  We  may  congratulate  our- 
selves, accordingly,  that  we  as  a  society  are  no  longer 
minors,  —  that  we  have  now  attained  our  majority.  Our 
youth  has  been  vigorous  and  fruitful.  That  we  should  praise 
the  men  who  have  made  it  so,  is  not  fitting;  for  most  of 
them,  happily,  are  still  living.  Their  activity  and  devotion 
to  the  interests  of  the  Association  are  witnessed  by  a  stately 
row  of  published  volumes  of  Transactions,  —  the  twentieth 
of  which,  along  with  an  index  of  contributors  and  an  index 
of  subjects  covering  the  whole  series,  was  issued  last  March. 
The  prospects  for  our  continued  fruitfulness  and  vigor  were 
never  brighter. 

We  should  be,  and  I  believe  that  we  are,  conscious  of  our 
manhood  and  power,  of  the  importance  and  dignity  of  our 
calling.  The  duty  which  the  scholar  as  a  citizen  owes  to  the 
state  is  one  of  the  most  frequent  themes  of  the  day ;  but  the 
duties  which  we  owe  to  society  and  the  body  politic  as 
philologists  and  public  teachers  may  also  well  engage  for  a 
moment  our  reflection  at  this  beginning  of  our  new  year. 

We  stand  here  as  the  representatives  of  one  of  those  "  use- 
less things  "  which  it  is  the  true  province  of  a  university  to 
teach.  Our  labors,  be  they  never  so  faithful,  will  not  avail 
one  whit  to  lessen  the  cost  of  carrying  a  barrel  of  flour  from 


'  !^  O 


1^G82 


Minneapolis  to  New  York,  or  to  diminish  by  the  hundredth 
of  a  cent  the  price  of  a  yard  of  cloth  at  Fall  River.  Now 
not  for  a  moment  do  we  underrate  the  vast  intellectual  force 
involved  in  the  great  economies  of  spinning  and  weaving,  or 
of  railway  administration  ;  and  yet  we  boldly  maintain  the 
true  usefulness  of  our  useless  discipline.  For  is  not  ours 
the  ministry  of  teaching  men,  —  by  holding  up  to  them 
the  noblest  ideals  of  virtue  and  of  patriotism,  the  fairest 
works  of  poet  and  of  artist,  and  the  truest  and  loftiest 
conceptions  of  God  and  of  our  relations  to  the  world  about 
us,  —  of  teaching  men,  I  say,  to  love  better  things  ?  Or 
else,  of  what  avail  is  the  cheaper  bread  or  clothing,  except 
as  giving  the  man  who  is  hurried  and  hustled  along  by  the 
materialism  of  the  age  a  little  more  time  to  cultivate  his 
nobler  self  by  some  actual  experience  in  enjoying  the  ideal 
and  the  useless,  —  in  short,  a  little  more  time  to  learn  that 
the  "  useful "  is  useful  only  in  so  far  as  it  enables  us  to  attain 
unto  the  useless. 

To  us  students  of  philology  belongs  the  privilege  of  renew- 
ing in  our  experience  some  of  the  best  thought  and  feeling  of 
the  past.  As  regards  success  in  turning  that  to  account  for 
our  fellows,  there  is  one  condition  that  1  would  fain  mention  ; 
it  is,  that  we  keep  ourselves  in  touch,  in  living,  active  S3^m- 
pathy,  with  the  life  and  thought  of  to-day.  No  longer  may 
the  scholar  be  a  cloistered  recluse.  He  must  mingle  with 
men.  He  must  be  quick  to  see  the  possibilities  which  the  ma- 
terial progress  of  mankind  offers  him  for  the  promotion  of  his 
science.  He  must  be  up  and  away,  to  Olympia  or  to  Delphi, 
to  the  Nile  Delta  or  to  Mesopotamia,  or  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth,  to  explore  and  to  dig,  to  collect  seals  and  clay  tablets, 
coins  and  inscriptions,  manuscripts  and  printed  books,  —  in 
short,  whatever  material  may  yield  back  the  treasures  of  the 
past.  He  must  study  the  land  and  people  with  his  own  eyes 
and  mind.  He  must  know  of  the  best  recent  progress  of  the 
graphic  arts,  in  order  that  he  may  aid  the  diffusion  of  knowl- 
edge effectively,  no  less  than  its  advancement.     He  must 


understand  the  course  of  current  events,  in  order  that  a  lesson 
of  the  past  may  be  applied  with  telling  force  to  a  fault  or  a 
problem  of  to-day.  And  above  all,  he  must  have  that  discrimi- 
nating recognition  of  interest  and  of  character  which  tells  him 
what  to  teach  and  to  whom  to  teach  it,  and  that  sympathy 
which  engenders  the  spirit  of  docility  in  the  taught.  The 
dictionaries  tell  us  that  the  word  "  scholar  "  goes  back  to  the 
Greek  o-^j^oA,?;,  "  spare  time,  leisure,  especially  for  learned  pur- 
suits." No  true-hearted  American  scholar  supposes  that  this 
leisure  is  his  for  mere  selfish  acquisition  of  knowledge.  Such 
treasures  are  barren,  and  hoarded  in  vain.  It  is  onl}'  as  he 
puts  them  to  the  service  of  his  day  and  generation  that  his 
acquisitions  of  knowledge  beget  in  the  scholar  himself  wis- 
dom and  culture  and  character,  —  the  end  of  all  learning. 

But  if  we  do  well  on  this  occasion  to  magnify  our  office  as 
American  philologists,  let  us  not  forget  that  even  since  the 
founding  of  this  Association  the  duties  and  responsibilities 
oi philologists,  of  whatever  nation,  have  been  greatly  widened. 
Philology  aims  to  unfold  to  us  the  whole  intellectual  hfe  of 
a  people  as  that  life  is  manifested  in  its  language  and  litera- 
ture, its  art,  its  antiquities,  its  religion.  As  such,  philology 
is  a  historical  discipline  ;  but  it  must  now  be  regarded  as  also 
a  philosophical  discipline,  for  it  seeks  not  only  to  reproduce 
the  great  phases  of  that  life,  but  also  to  trace  their  genetic 
relations  and  the  causal  connections  between  them.  It  thus 
becomes,  in  fact,  one  chapter  in  the  great  book  of  the  His- 
tory of  Evolution.  In  this  light,  its  driest  and  meanest 
results  gain  new  significance  and  dignity.  No  language,  no 
literature,  no  antiquity  can  be  dead  to  us  so  long  as  we  can 
see  the  living,  acting  forces  which  are  ever  at  work  shaping 
its  growth. 

I  suppose  there  are  few  of  us  who  have  not  been  oppressed 
by  the  vastness,  the  many-sidedness,  of  philology  ;  by  a  feel- 
ing of  hopeless  inability  to  get  a  commanding  grasp  of  the 
science  as  a  whole ;  by  a  sense  that  what  we  do  accomplish  is 


6 

after  all  so  painful  and  fragmentary  as  to  be  almost  in  vain,  — 
is,  in  the  words  of  Goethe's  Pylades,  — 

^oU  93^itf)'  imb  eitet  ©tudiuerf. 

May  not  the  contemplation  of  this  noblest  aspect  of  philology 
—  as  a  study  of  human  evolution  —  console  and  help  us,  take 
us  each  out  of  his  self-centred  isolation  of  purpose  and 
action,  and  co-ordinate  the  work  of  each  individual  with  that 
of  the  many  who  precede  and  follow  him,  so  that  his  own 
life-work  seems  to  him  no  longer  a  broken  fragment  lost 
among  countless  other  lost  and  broken  fragments,  but  rather 
a  well-jointed  part  —  small,  indeed,  perhaps  —  but  fitting 
perfectly  into  its  place  in  the  one  grand  structure  of  human 
elevation,  of  human  ennoblement. 


Ladies  and  Gentlemen  : 

It  is  to  a  study  of  evolution,  of  the  genesis  of  a  form  of 
religion,  that  your  attention  is  asked  this  evening.  My  theme 
is  TJie  Beginnings  of  Hindu  Pantheisyn.  The  materials  for 
its  study  are  the  Upanishads, — brief  Sanskrit  treatises  of  the 
Hindu  mystics  of  perhaps  the  sixth  century  before  Christ. 
The  Upanishads  teach  the  absolute  identity  of  man  and  God, 
of  the  individual  soul  and  the  Supreme  Spirit,  and  declare 
that  only  by  the  recognition  of  its  true  nature  can  the  soul 
be  released  from  its  attachment  to  the  world-illusion,  and 
from  the  consequent  round  of  transmigrations.  Our  sub- 
ject involves  the  consideration  of  the  religion  of  the 
Upanishads  rather  than  of  their  philosophy,  of  their  prac- 
tical rather  than  of  their  theoretical  aspects. 

He  who  would  discourse  upon  the  religion  of  Israel  has  a 
theme  that  needs  no  apology  when  it  asks  our  attention. 
The  history  of  that  religion  is  inseparably  connected  with 
the  beginnings  of  our  own.  To  the  Semites  we  owe  the 
contribution  of  the  most  important  single  factor  in  the  civili. 


zation  of  the  world.  Quite  different  is  it  with  the  Hindus. 
Leaving  out  of  account  the  Extreme  Orient,  India  has  had 
no  grand  part  in  the  history  of  world-civilization.  It  is  true, 
the  primitive  Hindus  are  a  branch  of  the  same  great  Aryan 
family  to  which  we  also  by  right  of  birth  belong ;  but  so  far 
as  their  influence  upon  our  life  and  thought,  or  of  ours  upon 
them,  is  concerned,  the  Hindus  might  almost  as  well  have  lived 
on  the  planet  Jupiter  as  on  the  banks  of  the  Indus  and  the 
Ganges.  But,  once  more,  supposing  that  they  had  lived  on  the 
planet  Jupiter,  and  that  we  here,  earth-dwellers  in  this  the 
nineteenth  century,  had  in  some  wondrous  wise  got  knowl- 
edge of  the  history  of  their  life  and  thought,  and  had  learned 
that  they  in  their  isolation  had,  like  us,  realized  and  tried  to 
solve  the  mystery  of  existence,  —  would  not  our  interest  be 
heightened  to  most  eager  curiosity  ?  And  yet,  barring  Jupiter, 
this  is  the  case.  Centuries  ago  their  tranquil  sages  grappled 
with  the  problems  of  existence  and  of  evil,  "  their  young 
men  saw  visions,  and  their  old  men  dreamed  dreams."  Rude 
and  incoherent  were  these  "words  of  the  wise  and  their 
dark  sayings,"  but  containing  withal  a  few  great  thoughts, — 
thoughts  which  were  taken  up  by  the  Hindu  thinkers  of  later 
times  and  elaborated  into  philosophical  systems,  and  of  which, 
even  in  their  crude  and  unsystematic  forms,  there  are  striking 
counterparts  in  Occidental  philosophy. 

But  the  human  interest  of  the  Upanishads  lies  not  alone 
in  the  analogies  and  the  contrasts  which  they  present  when 
compared  with  Occidental  speculation  ;  they  have  a  great 
intrinsic  interest  for  the  student  of  one  of  the  most  important 
phases  of  evolution,  inasmuch  as  they  are  the  reflex  of  a  most 
wonderful  period  in  the  history  of  India, — the  period,  namely, 
in  which  the  sturdy,  life-loving  Vedic  Aryans  are  being  trans- 
formed into  quietistic,  pessimistic  Hindus.  Let  me  set 
forth  more  clearly  who  and  what  the  people  were  among 
whom  the  Upanishads  originated,  and  explain  briefly  the  place 
of  these  works  in  the  literature  of  India. 


The  earl}'  Aryan  tribes  immigrant  into  the  northwest  of 
India  were,  in  blood  and  language,  of  the  same  primitive 
stock  from  which  we  ourselves  are  sprung  ;  they  were  the 
easternmost  members  of  the  Indo-European  or  Aryan  family, 
—  that  primevalgroupof  clans  which  included  the  progenitors 
of  the  Persian,  Greek,  Italic,  Celtic,  Germanic,  and  Slavic 
tribes.  They  have  left  us  a  record  of  their  character  and 
religion  in  the  hymns  of  the  Veda,  —  the  oldest  recorded  docu- 
ments of  our  branch  of  the  human  race.  The  Vedic  Aryans 
were  pastoral  clans,  vigorous  from  open-air  life  in  a  compara- 
tively vigorous  climate.  They  evidently  enjoyed  life  ;  for 
they  beseech  their  gods  for  length  of  days  and  numerous 
children  as  the  greatest  blessings.  Their  wealth  lay  in  their 
herds  and  fields.  Raids  upon  neighboring  clans  fostered  a 
warlike  spirit  in  them  ;  and  their  religious  instincts  were 
strongly  developed  by  the  intensity  of  action  of  the  forces 
of  Nature  which  is  peculiar  to  the  tropical  and  subtropical 
zones.  The  burst  of  the  monsoon,  which  ushers  in  the 
rainy  season  in  India,  is  a  spectacular  drama  which  defies 
all  human  mimicry.  Small  wonder  that  the  Vedic  Aryans 
conceived  the  crash  and  din  of  the  aerial  commotion  as  a 
battle  of  god  Indra  with  the  dragon,  and  the  forked  light- 
nings as  the  thunderbolts  with  which  he  was  smiting  the 
demon  of  drought  and  famine.  And  so  it  was  with  the  other 
elemental  forces :  all  were  anthropomorphized.  The  wind, 
the  sun,  the  fire,  the  waters,  —  each  was  the  manifestation  of 
a  divine  personality  whose  anger  was  to  be  appeased  and 
whose  favor  was  to  be  sought.  The  relations  of  deity  and 
worshipper  are  often  on  a  simple  give-and-take  basis.  The 
gods  accept  the  cakes  of  rice  and  the  oblations  of  butter,  and 
give  in  return  rain  and  food,  health  and  wealth,  children  and 
cattle.  Lofty  spiritual  aspiration,  flights  of  the  poetic  my- 
thologizing  fancy,  —  these  are  not  wholly  absent ;  but  of 
them  there  is  rather  disappointingly  little. 

The  elements  that  should  inform  the  Vedic  religion  with 


9 

life  are  not  strong  enough  to  insure  its  vitality.  The  simple 
rites  of  worship,  which  were  at  first  conducted  by  the  patri- 
archal head  of  a  family  or  clan,  fell  into  the  hands  of  a 
caste  of  priests,  whose  interest  it  was  to  develop  these  rites 
into  a  system  so  complex  and  minute  that  only  they,  the 
trained  sacrificers  by  profession,  could  perform  them,  — to 
secure,  in  short,  a  monopoly  of  the  sacerdotal  functions  and 
offices.  The  nature-religion  of  the  Vedas  has  been  trans- 
formed into  a  rigid,  soul-deadening  ritualism.  This  is  the 
second  phase  in  the  history  of  Indian  life  ;  and  we  name  it 
Brahmanism,  after  the  caste  of  Brahmans,  who  in  priestly 
robes  lorded  it  over  their  fellows  for  centuries. 

It  need  hardly  be  said  that  this  transformation  could  not 
and  did  not  take  place  without  a  great  change  in  the  char- 
acter of  the  Vedic  Aryans ;  it  was,  in  fact,  the  most  palpable 
manifestation  of  that  change.  And  this  change  of  character 
in  turn  was  conditioned  by  a  most  important  change  of  envi- 
ronment. The  tribes  which  perhaps  a  couple  of  thousand 
years  before  Christ  had  dwelt  in  the  extreme  northwest  of 
India,  or  even  beyond  its  borders,  have  advanced  southeast- 
ward across  the  basin  of  the  Indus  and  into  the  valleys  of 
the  Ganges  and  Jumna.  Burning  sunshine,  torrid  winds, 
sultry  rainy  seasons,  —  these  tell,  in  the  course  of  genera- 
tions, no  less  on  the  moral  than  on  the  physical  fibre  of  a 
race.  If  we  look  at  the  descendants  of  the  Vedic  tribes,  say 
in  the  sixth  pre-Christian  century,  we  must  write  Ichabod. 

Their  exuberant  love  of  life  has  vanished.  Nay,  more,  life 
is  a  burden.  And  worse  still,  it  is  a  burden  from  which  even 
death  itself  provides  no  escape.  The  belief  in  the  transmi- 
gration of  souls,  the  metempsychosis,  has  become  ingrained  in 
the  Hindu  character.  It  is  not  a  dogma  of  the  learned  only, 
it  is  an  established  conviction  among  the  lowest  and  meanest. 
Even  the  birds  and  animals  in  the  quaint  beast-fables  are 
represented  as  believing  in  it,  and  as  attributing  their  misfor- 
tunes to  their  sins  in  a  former  existence.     There  is  not  a 

2 


10 

trace  of  this  belief  in  the  Veda  proper ;  but  the  later  literal 
ture  is  saturated  wdth  it.  The  Greeks,  as  is  well  known,  had 
the  doctrine ;  but  their  national  temper  was  too  happy  to 
allow  it  to  influence  their  life  and  character  appreciably.  To 
the  Hindu,  on  the  other  hand,  the  misery  of  the  prospect  of 
life  after  life  and  death  after  death  was  a  reality  so  terrible 
as  to  pervade  the  whole  current  of  his  thought  and  action. 

The  ancient,  or  pre-classical,  literature  of  India  may  be 
comprehended,  for  the  purposes  of  this  discussion,  under 
two  heads,  —  the  Vedic  hymns,  and  the  Brahmanas,  Of  the 
hymns  we  have  spoken.  They  contain  the  prayers  and 
praises  offered  by  a  simple  people  to  their  gods,  and,  as  the 
oldest  records  of  Indo-European  antiquity,  furnish  most  im- 
portant material  for  the  study  of  ethnic  religions.  With  the 
supersession  of  the  nature-religion  of  the  Vedas  by  Brahman- 
ism  came  the  writings  called  Brahmanas.  They  belong  to 
the  oldest  Indo-European  prose  extant.  They  are  theological 
and  mystical  disquisitions  upon  the  ritualism  into  which 
religion  had  degenerated.  The  sacrifice  had  become  the 
one  all-engrossing  object  of  religious  and  literary  activity. 
Its  importance,  legends  concerning  its  efficacy,  the  esoteric 
significance  of  each  act  of  its  endless,  dreary  details,  —  these 
matters  fill  the  great  tomes  called  Brahmanas.  Above  all, 
we  find  in  them  the  most  extravagant  symbolism.  About 
the  sacrifice  the  Brahman  has  spun  a  flimsy  web  of  mj^stery, 
and  in  each  of  its  elements  and  events  he  sees  a  hidden 
meaning.  The  blessings  which  these  priestly  scriptures  hold 
out  as  a  reward  for  ritualistic  observances  are  chiefly  tem- 
poral. Thus,  to  the  prescriptions  for  the  morning  and  even- 
ing oblations  in  the  sacred  fire  it  is  added  that  one  should 
offer  sesamum  oil  who  desires  personal  beauty  ;  porridge,  if 
he  desire  children  ;  rice-broth,  if  he  desire  to  get  possession 
of  a  village  ;  water,  if  he  desire  long  life  ;  and  so  on.  The 
means  and  ends  of  such  a  system  are  not  lofty ;  and  therefore 
it  could  not  in  the  long  run  make  its  appeal  to  the  noble. 


11 

For  there  were  noble  souls  left  in  degenerate  India,  —  men 
who  had  been  brought  up  in  the  priestly  schools,  had  been 
taught  the  wisdom  of  the  ancients,  and  had  seen  its  vanity. 
These  were  the  promoters  of  the  great  religious  awakenings 
of  about  500  b.  c,  of  Buddhism,  Jainism,  the  Brahmanic 
revival,  —  the  men  who  felt  moved  to  show  to  India  a  "  more 
excellent  way."  I  have  said  "  awakenings :  "  Buddhism,  the 
greatest  of  them,  was  only  one  of  many  dissenting  move- 
ments ;  and  none  of  them,  any  more  than  the  Protestant 
Reformation  in  Europe,  was  the  work  of  one  man. 

Under  the  Brahmanic  dispensation  there  were  four  orders, 
or  stages,  in  the  well-rounded  life :  a  man  became  in  turn, 
first,  a  pupil  ;  then,  a  householder ;  thirdly,  a  forest-hermit ; 
and  lastly,  an  ascetic.  Now  the  forest-hermit  life  and  asce- 
ticism are  the  outward  manifestations  of  the  transition  from 
the  ritualism  of  the  Brahmanas  to  the  religion  of  the  Upani- 
shads.  The  active  Vedic  Aryan  had  looked  "  outward,  and 
not  in."  His  Hindu  descendants  were  quietists,  to  whom  life 
seemed  not  well  worth  living.  What  wonder  that  they 
should  look  inward,  and  not  out?  Hermit-life  fosters  the 
habits  of  meditation  and  introspection,  and  these  led  naturally 
to  theosophic  speculation.  And  hence  we  find  in  the  later 
Brahmanas  passages  of  speculative  content  appropriate  for 
the  use  of  these  vXo^loc,  or  Forest-hermits,  and  called  Ara- 
nyakas  {i.  e.  "  Forest-treatises")  and  Upanishads.  The  more 
important  of  these  passages  have  been  treated  as  sepa- 
rate works  and  dignified  with  separate  names  ;  but  it  must  be 
remembered  that  the  older  Upanishads  are  in  fact  integral 
portions  of  the  Brahmanas.  Ten  or  a  dozen  of  these  Upan- 
ishads ^  have  become  famous  classics  of  the  Indian  literature, 


1  In  the  same  general  style  as  the  genuine  Upanishads,  have  been  written 
others  which  would  swell  the  number  to  one  or  two  hundred.  Tiie  most  im- 
portant old  Upanishads  are  the  Brhad  Aranyaka  Upanishad,  or  Upanishad  of 
the  Great  Forest  Treatise,  the  Chandogya  Upanishad,  and  the  Katha  Upan- 
ishad.    The  first  two  have  just  been  edited  and  translated  by  the  master  hand 


12 


and  are  constantly  cited  as  authoritative  texts  of  holy  scrip- 
ture b}'  the  writers  of  the  later  systematic  philosophical 
treatises. 

Of  the  date  of  the  older  Upanishads  we  judge  chiefij'  by 
the  general  aspect  of  their  contents  as  coin|Dared  with  what 
precedes  and  what  follows  in  the  development  of  Indian 
thought.  And  by  this  criterion  they  must  be  referred  to 
about  the  same  epoch  as  the  rise  of  Buddhism  and  Jainism, 
—  say  about  five  hundred  years  before  Christ. 

There  is  no  abrupt  break  in  the  course  of  development 
from  the  old  Brahman  religion  to  that  of  the  Upanishads. 
The  men  who  saw  a  new  light  felt  that  they  were  "  not  come 
to  destroy,  but  to  fulfil."  Saint  Paul  says  of  himself,  "  Cir- 
cumcised the  eighth  day,  of  the  stock  of  Israel,  of  the  tribe 
of  Benjamin,  a  Hebrew  of  the  Hebrews."  So  these  old 
Brahman  prophets  :  they  wore  the  sacred  cord,  —  a  symbol 
no  less  significant  than  circumcision  ;  they  were  born  to  an 
intense  pride  of  family  and  clan  ;  they  were,  as  "  touching 
the  righteousness  which  is  in  the  law,  blameless."  But  the}^ 
felt  that  something  must  be  added  to  the  works  of  the  law ; 
and  this  something  was  not,  as  in  the  Christian  antithesis, 
faith,  but  rather  knowledge. 

Ramatirtha's  introduction  to  the  Maitri  Upanishad  is  interesting  as 
the  attempt  of  an  Indian  schoolman  "  to  establish,"  as  he  says,  "  the 
connection  between  the  earlier  (or  Brahmana)  and  the  later  (or 
Upanishad)  portions  of  the  Veda,"  that  is,  to  reconcile  the  ancient 
ritualism  with  the  new  gnosis.  ''  Although,"  says  Ramatirtha,  "  in  the 
preceding  portion  of  the  Veda,  consisting  of  four  books,  many  cere- 
monies, morning  and  evening  oblations,  and  so  forth,  have  been  en- 
joined, and  described  as  producing  their  higher  or  lower  fruit,  still 
these  do  not  result  in  the  attainment  of  man's  highest  object ;  for  they 
all  aim  at  fruit  which  is  to  be  produced,  and  whatever  can  be  produced 

of  Bolitlingk.  But  a  good  critical  text  of  all  the  old  Upanishads,  conveniently 
assembled  in  one  volume,  with  a  pliilologically  accurate  translation  and  various 
useful  appendices,  is  still  one  of  the  pressing  needs  of  Indology. 


13 

is  transient,  according  to  the  law,  '  Whatever  is  capable  of  being  made 
is  temporal.'  For  thus  saith  the  scripture "  —  and  the  schoolman 
quotes  from  the  famous  controversy  between  Yajnavalkya  and  the 
wise  woman  Gargi,  recounted  in  the  Brhad  Aranyaka  — "  for  thus 
saith  the  scriptui'e :  '  Whosoever  in  this  world,  without  the  knowledge 
of  the  imperishable,  maketh  oblations,  giveth  alms,  and  practiseth 
austerities,  even  for  many  thousand  years,  —  for  him  it  all  comes  to 
an  end.'  " 

Now  the  Upanishad,  resumes  Ramatirtha,  intends  to  show  to  the 
man  who  desires  an  object  which  is  in  its  own  nature  eternal,  the 
means  for  the  accomplishment  of  his  object.  One  whose  internal 
organ  is  filled  with  the  impressions  of  countless  objects  which  have 
been  experienced  in  the  endless  succession  of  past  births,  is  led  by  his 
subjection  to  these  impressions  to  continued  activity ;  his  mind  is  still 
set  on  external  objects,  and  it  is  impossible  to  turn  him  back  suddenly 
from  his  external  pursuits.  The  Brahmana,  therefore,  at  first  teaches 
him  outward  ceremonies  only  as  a  means  of  preparation  for  the 
struggle  for  a  loftier  aim.  These  ceremonies,  performed  without  any 
desire  for  selfish  results,  are  intended  to  distract  the  mind  from 
worldly  pursuits ;  to  develop  passionlessness  and  self-restraint,  and 
extinguish  all  desire  save  that  for  final  emancipation  ;  to  effect  a  clear 
discrimination  between  things  temporal  and  things  eternal ;  to  prepare 
a  man  for  the  knowledge  of  the  real  nature  of  the  individual  soul,  and 
so  lead  him  to  the  knowledge  of  the  Supreme  Soul,  in  which  knowledge 
abideth  perfect  peace.  —  Thus  far  Ramatirtha. 


Bj  historical  development,  as  we  have  seen,  ritualism  had 
no  such  purpose  as  this.  Indeed,  even  the  Upanishads  them- 
selves, in  their  earliest  portions,  cannot  claim  so  lofty  a 
purpose ;  for  we  jfind,  as  the  rewards  for  a  certain  mystical 
knowledge,  a  full  term  of  life  (reckoned  at  one  hundred 
years),  abundance  of  children  and  of  cattle  and  of  fame. 

It  may  help  us  to  understand  the  beginnings  of  Hindu 
pantheism  if  we  devote  here  a  few  moments  to  a  brief 
sketch  of  the  life  of  the  Brahmans.  Megasthenes,  the  am- 
bassador of  Seleukos  Nikator  at  the  court  of  Sandrakottos 
about  300  B.  c,  observes  that  even  from  the  time  of  concep- 
tion  in  the  womb  they   are    under    the   care  of   wise  men. 


14 

And  indeed  there  are  holy  rites  for  every  stage  of  the  Brah- 
man's existence,  from  before  his  birth  till  after  death.  The 
most  important  of  all  the  twelve  sacraments  are  his  investi- 
ture with  the  sacred  cord  at  the  hands  of  his  Veda-teacher, 
and  his  marriage. 

The  investiture  is  the  symbol  of  his  spiritual  regeneration, 
and  hence  those  who  receive  it  are  called  the  twice-born. 
The  ceremony  is  described  at  length  in  the  books.  We  may 
picture  to  ourselves  the  teacher.  He  is  an  aged  Brahman. 
His  youth  has  been  passed  in  hearing  the  sacred  word,  and 
he  is  in  possession  of  supernatural  power  before  which  great 
and  lowly  alike  tremble  ;  for  the  curse  of  a  wrathful 
Brahman  never  fails.  Solemnly,  with  the  laying  on  of  hands, 
he  addresses  the  novice  with  words  from  the  Rigveda. 
And  in  response  the  student  performs  the  first  act  of  his 
spiritually  new  life :  he  places  in  utter  silence  a  piece  of 
wood  upon  the  sacred  fire.  Then,  taught  by  the  elder,  he 
pronounces  line  by  line  the  Savitri,  which  for  some  strange 
reason  has  come  to  be  the  most  celebrated  and  oft-repeated 
of  all  the  ten  thousand  stanzas  of  the  Rigveda,  — 

Of  Savitar,  the  heavenly, 

That  longed-for  glory  may  we  win  ! 

And  may  himself  iusijire  oixr  prayers. 

Then  the  teacher  lays  his  hand  with  the  fingers  upwards  upon 
the  student's  heart  with  the  words,  — 

In  subjection  to  me  thy  heart  I  put. 

Let  thy  thinking  follow  my  thinking. 

In  my  word  rejoice  thou  with  all  thy  soul. 

Such  is  his  introduction  to  the  first  order,  the  order  of 
student.  Truly,  if  this  is  a  spiritual  re-birth,  what  is  it  to 
be  spiritually  still-born  ?  "  Let  thy  thinking  follow  my  think- 
ing."    Herein  lies  the  fatal  weakness  of  the  system. 

The  girdle  is  tied  around  him.      He  takes  his  staff,  and  no 


15 

matter  how  rich  or  how  powerful  his  family,  he  starts  out 
to  beg  his  food.  Modestly  and  courteously,  with  refinement 
of  etiquette,  he  begs  it  morning  and  evening.  Morning  and 
evening  he  tends  the  sacred  fire.  Under  the  vow  of  poverty, 
chastity,  and  obedience  he  devotes  himself  to  the  study  of 
the  Veda.  The  course  for  learning  the  four  Vedas  is  forty- 
eight  years,  or  the  half  of  that,  or  the  quarter,  "  or "  — 
as  the  books  quaintly  say  —  "  until  he  has  learned  them  ;  for 
life  is  uncertain." 

A  Brahman  is  born  laden  with  three  debts,  says  an  ancient 
book.  He  owes  Veda-study  to  the  sages;  to  the  gods  he 
owes  sacrifices ;  and  to  the  spirits  of  the  blessed  dead,  a  son. 
The  first  he  pays  in  his  long  years  of  pupilage  ;  to  absolve  the 
second  and  third  he  must  needs  be  a  householder.  And 
accordingly  marriage  is  a  duty,  and  is  the  most  important  of 
aU  the  sacraments  except  investiture ;  for  without  a  son  he 
has  no  one  to  keep  up  the  cultus  of  his  departed  ancestors, 
—  a  most  direful  misfortune. 

Having  passed  through  the  orders  of  student  and  house- 
holder, the  Brahman  becomes  a  forest-hermit.  In  this  order 
he  is  clad  in  a  dress  made  of  bark  or  skin,  feeds  on  wild 
roots  and  fruits,  is  chaste,  meek,  cleanly,  and  silent  save 
when  he  recites  the  Veda.  The  hermit  differs  from  the 
ascetic  in  that  the  hermit  may  take  his  wife  and  children  and 
one  sacred  fire  with  him  to  the  forest,  build  a  hut,  and  main- 
tain his  fire  and  the  morning  and  evening  oblation  ;  and  also 
in  that  he  seeks  for  heaven. 

The  last  and  highest  of  the  four  orders  was  that  of  the 
ascetic,  or,  as  he  was  otherwise  called,  the  pious  mendicant, 
the  beggar,  or  the  wanderer.  He  sought  for  something 
higher  than  heaven,  —  for  the  path  that  leads  to  the  cessation 
of  re-births.  Without  a  house,  without  a  home,  without  a  fire, 
clean-shaven,  naked,  or  wearing  at  most  a  clout  or  an  old  rag 
or  a  cast-off  garment,  chaste,  silent  save  with  great  ascetics 
and  teachers  of  the  Upanishads,  begging,  or  receiving  in  his 


16 

alms-bowl  what  is  given  without  his  asking,  and  only  just 
enough  to  sustain  life,  harming  no  sentient  being,  sleeping 
by  night  at  the  root  of  a  tree,  he  should  wander,  wander 
about,  caring  neither  for  this  world  nor  for  heaven. 

The  life  of  these  ascetics  made  a  striking  impression  upon 
Alexander  the  Great  and  his  Greek  invaders.  Full  of  curi- 
osity, the  youthful  world-conqueror  sent  Onesikritos  to  talk 
with  the  sages.  And  as  one  of  them  saw  him  coming  with 
mantle  and  hat  and  boots,  he  laughed  at  him,  and  bade  him 
strip  himself  and  lie  naked  on  the  stones  to  listen,  if  he 
would  hear  his  teaching.  The  ascetic,  reproved  by  a  com- 
panion for  discourtesy  to  the  Greek,  proceeds  to  show  him 
that  the  best  doctrine  is  that  which  removes  not  only  sorrow 
but  also  joy,  from  the  soul. 

Megasthenes,  too,  tells  us  of  these  sombre  sages.  "  They 
converse  very  much  about  death.  They  believe  that  this  life 
is  as  it  were  only  a  completion  of  one's  conception  in  the 
womb,  and  that  death  for  the  wise  man  is  in  reality  a 
birth  to  the  only  true  and  happy  life.  Therefore  they  exer- 
cise themselves  with  much  preparation  to  be  ready  to  die. 
They  teach  that  nothing  which  happens  to  a  man  is  good 
or  evil  in  itself;  for  otherwise,  some  would  not  grieve  and 
others  rejoice  at  the  same  occurrence,  as  they  do,  led  by 
dream-like  illusions  ;  nor  would  the  same  occurrence  which 
makes  a  man  grieve  at  one  time  make  the  same  man  rejoice 
at  another.  In  many  things  they  agree  with  the  Greeks  ;  for 
they  affirm  that  the  world  is  created  and  perishable,  and  that 
it  has  the  shape  of  a  sphere,  and  that  the  god  who  created 
and  rules  it  pervades  it  completely.  And  concerning  seed, 
the  soul,  and  much  else,  they  make  statements  in  accord  with 
those  of  the  Greeks,  but  weaving  into  them  also,  like  Plato 
himself,  fables  about  the  immortality  of  the  soul  and  the 
like." 

Such  were  the  men,  the  struggles  of  whose  inner  life  are 
reflected  in  the  Upanishads.     The  doctrines  of  these  treatises 


17 

cannot  be  combined  into  a  coherent  philosophical  system  ; 
they  are  too  disconnected,  contradictory,  and  disorderly. 
Indeed,  as  M.  Barth  says,  they  are  addressed  more  to  man 
as  man  than  to  man  as  thinker.  Vigorous  and  great  and 
noble  thoughts  pervade  them,  but  they  are  thoughts  over- 
run with  a  parasitic  growth  of  fantastic  allegory.  They  are 
fairly  to  be  called  religious  rather  than  philosophical,  because 
their  speculations  never  lose  sight  of  their  one  great  prac- 
tical end, —  the  liberation  of  the  soul.  "Were  the  soul  fixed 
upon  the  Supreme  Spirit  so  as  it  is  fixed  upon  the  things  of 
sense,  who  would  not  be  loosed  from  his  bonds?"  says  the 
Maitri.  And  the  same  Upanishad  goes  on  to  describe  the 
soul  in  bondage  :  — 

The  results  of  its  works  in  a  former  existence  are  no  more  to  be 
stayed  than  the  waves  of  a  mighty  river.  The  coming  of  death  can 
no  more  be  kept  back  than  can  the  tide  of  the  ocean.  The  unilhi- 
mined  soul  is  crippled,  as  it  were,  by  the  fetters  of  good  and  evil 
consequences  with  which  it  is  bound  ;  bereft  of  liberty  like  a  pris- 
oner in  his  cell ;  beset  by  many  a  fear,  like  one  who  stands  before  his 
judge;  intoxicated  with  delusions  like  one  intoxicated  with  wine; 
driven  hither  and  yonder  by  sin  like  one  possessed ;  bitten  by  the 
things  of  sense  like  one  bitten  by  a  hufje  serpent ;  blinded  by  passion 
like  the  darkness  of  midnight ;  full  of  illusion  like  magic  ;  full  of  false 
apparitions  like  a  dream ;  pithless  as  the  inside  of  the  stem  of  a 
banana-tree ;  changing  its  dress  every  moment  like  an  actor  ;  falsely 
fair  as  a  painted  wall. 

How  shall  the  soul  be  loosed  from  this  bondage  ?  Our 
deeds  — 

"  Follow  us  from  afar, 
And  what  we  have  been  makes  us  what  we  are." 

How  shall  it  be  rescued  from  the  eddying  vortex  of  transmi- 
gration in  which  it  is  whirled  about  by  its  deeds?  The 
answer  of  the  Upanishads  is,  "  By  the  recognition  of  its 
true  nature."      By   its   true   nature    it   is   absolutely  iden- 


18 

tical  with  the  supreme  and  all-pervading  Spirit  of  the 
Universe. 

There  is,  in  an  ancient  Vedic  hj^^mn  used  in  the  ritual  of 
cremation  and  burial,  a  verse  addressed  to  the  departed  : 
"  Let  thine  eye  go  to  the  sun  ;  thy  breath  to  the  wind."  It 
is  perhaps  the  oldest  text  involving  the  idea  of  the  microcosm 
and  macrocosm.  Each  element  in  man  comes  from  some 
element  in  nature  with  which  it  has  most  affinity,  and  there- 
to it  returns  at  dissolution.  These  affinities  are  worked  out 
with  much  detail  in  the  Upanishad :  "  In  case  the  dead 
man's  voice  goes  to  the  fire,  his  breath  to  the  wind,  his  eye  to 
the  sun,  his  mind  to  the  moon,  his  hearing  to  space,  his  body 
to  the  earth,  the  hair  of  his  body  to  the  plants,  the  hair  of  his 
head  to  the  trees,  and  his  blood  to  the  waters,  what  becomes 
then  of  the  man?  "  The  affinity  of  the  eye  and  the  sun  is 
universally  palpable.  Thus  Plato  says  :  "  Most  like  to  the 
sun,  methinks,  is  the  eye,  of  all  the  organs  of  sense."  Not 
less  so  is  that  of  the  breath  and  the  wind. 

Now  no  less  than  five  of  the  old  Upanishads  contain  a 
"  Dialogue  of  the  Vital  Powers,"  which  has  a  curious  like- 
ness to  the  old  Roman  fable  of  the  "  Belly  and  the  Mem- 
bers," and  is  not  without  interest  in  this  connection.  It  is  as 
follows:  — 

The  vital  powers  strove  among  themselves  for  the  pre-eminence, 
saying  each,  I  am  better  than  the  rest,  I  am  better  than  the  rest.  The 
vital  powers  went  unto  Father  Prajapati  and  spake  :  Exalted  one ! 
which  of  us  is  the  best  ?  He  answered  them :  That  one  at  whose  de- 
parture the  body  seems  to  feel  the  worst,  that  is  the  best  one  of  you. 

The  voice  departed.  After  it  had  been  away  for  a  year,  it  came 
back  and  said:  How  have  ye  been  able  to  live  without  me?  — 
Like  mutes  that  speak  not,  breathing  with  the  breath,  seeing  with  the 
eye,  hearing  with  the  ear,  thinking  with  the  mind.  Thus  lived  we.  — 
So  the  voice  entered  in  again. 

The  eye  departed.  After  it  had  been  away -for  a  year,  it  came  back 
and  said :  How  have  ye  been  able  to  live  without  me  ?  —  Like  the 
blind  that  see  not,  breathing  with  the  breath,  speaking  with  the  voice. 


19 

hearing  with  the  ear,  thinking  with  the  mind.  Thus  lived  we.  —  So 
the  eye  entered  in  again. 

The  ear  departed.  After  it  had  been  away  for  a  year,  it  came  back 
and  said:  How  have  ye  been  able  to  live  without  me? —  Like  the 
deaf  that  hear  not,  breathing  with  the  breath,  speaking  with  the  voice, 
seeing  with  the  eye,  thinking  with  the  mind.  Thus  lived  we.  —  So  the 
ear  entered  in  again. 

The  mind  departed.  After  it  had  been  away  for  a  year,  it  came  back 
and  said :  How  have  ye  been  able  to  live  without  me  ?  —  Like  fools 
without  mind,  breathing  with  the  breath,  speaking  with  the  voice,  see- 
ing with  the  eye,  hearing  with  the  ear.  Thus  lived  we.  —  So  the  mind 
entered  in  again. 

Now  as  the  breath  was  on  the  point  of  departing,  —  just  as  a 
j)roud  steed  from  the  Indus  would  pull  and  tear  the  pegs  of  his  tether, 
so  it  pulled  and  tore  tiie  other  vital  powers.  Together  spake  they  all 
to  the  breath  and  said :  Exalted  one !  Thou  art  the  best  of  us. 
Without  thee  we  cannot  live.^     Depart  not. 

This  fable  appears  to  contain  in  its  oldest  and  simplest  form 
the  recognition  of  the  supremacy  of  the  vital  principle  called 
breath,  prana,  or  atman,  upon  which  even  the  organ  of 
thought  or  the  manas  depends.  The  atman  is  the  central 
point  in  the  human  personality,  —  the  vague,  hidden,  underly- 
ing power  which  is  the  necessary  condition  of  all  human 
activity. 

I  have  said  that  symbolism  and  mystery  were  run  mad  in 
the  Brahmanas.  The  sacrifice  is  a  symbol  of  man,  —  in  short, 
it  is  man.  The  morning  oblation  is  a  type  of  the  first 
twenty-four  years  of  his  life,  because  it  is  offered  with  the 
accompaniment  of  the  Savitri,  a  stanza  of  the  Rigveda  which 
consists  of  twenty-four  syllables.  The  midday  oblation  cor- 
responds to  the  next  forty-four  years  of  his  life,  for  it  is 
offered  with  a  trishtuhh.,  or  stanza  of  forty-four  syllables. 
The  evening  oblation  answers  to  the  next  forty-eight  years 

1  And  therefore,  it  is  added,  the  senses  are  called  neither  voices  nor  eyes  nor 
ears  nor  minds,  but  pranas  (literally  "  breaths  "  :  I  have  rendered  it  by  "  vital 
powers"),  for  the  breath  pervades  them  all. 


20 

of  his  life,  because  offered  with  a  jayatiy  or  stanza  of  forty- 
eight  syllables.  And  this  precious  wisdom,  the  knowledge 
of  this  symbolism,  has  a  magic,  a  god-compelling  power. 
Mahidasa  Aitareya,  who  had  this  knowledge,  lived  one  hun- 
dred and  sixteen  years ;  and  he  who  fathoms  it  shall  live  one 
hundred  and  sixteen  years. 

Or  again:  The  light  within  a  man  is  a  symbol  of — in 
short  it  is  —  the  light  which  lightens  beyond  the  heaven,  on 
the  summit  of  everything,  on  the  summit  of  all,  in  the  highest 
world,  above  which  there  are  no  higher  worlds.  When  one 
feels  warmth  in  touching  the  body,  then  one  sees  this  light. 
When  one,  covering  his  ears,  notices  as  it  were  a  gentle  noise 
or  humming  like  that  of  a  burning  fire,  then  one  hears  it. 
One  should  worship  it  as  the  seen  and  the  heard.  Him  men 
shall  gladly  see,  and  of  him  men  shall  hear  who  hath  this 
knowledge. 

For  the  Vedic  period  it  was  sufficient  to  seek  the  elemental 
counterpart  of  the  breath  of  life  in  the  wind  that  bloweth. 
For  the  Hindu  mystic  this  was  not  enough.  His  dreamy 
speculations  have  invested  the  Atman,  the  vital  breath,  with 
potencies  and  attributes  which  pervade  the  whole  being  of 
man.  Granted  that  it  must  have  a  counterpart  in  the  macro- 
cosm, and  the  first  great  step  of  Hindu  pantheism  is  taken. 
For  that  counterpart  must  hold  the  same  relation  to  the 
universe  that  the  Atman  does  to  man.  It  can  be  nought 
else  than  the  principle  which  informs  the  universe  with 
life,  which  —  as  they  told  Megasthenes  —  pervades  it 
completely. 

In  this  atmosphere  of  mystic  symbolism  everything  is  not 
only  that  which  it  is^  but  also  that  which  it  signifies.  So  lost 
is  the  Brahman  in  these  esoteric  vagaries  that  to  him  the 
line  of  demarcation  between  is  and  signifies  becomes  almost 
wholly  obliterated.  If  the  Atman  in  man  is  the  type  and 
symbol  of  the  supreme  Atman,  then  it  is  that  su])reme 
Atman,  and  pantheism  is  an  accomplished  fact. 


21 

But  we  may  not  suppose  that  the  sages  of  the  Upanishads 
conceived  the  doctrine  of  the  absolute  identity  of  the  soul 
with  the  All-Soul  so  rigorously  as  it  appears  in  the  system  of 
the  Vedanta.  On  the  contrary,  many  of  the  earliest  texts 
about  the  Supreme  Atman  present  a  naively  anthropomorphic 
picture  of  him.  He  is  more  like  a  primeval  titanic  man  than 
a  god.  "  In  the  beginning  was  the  Atman.  He  looked  around 
and  saw  nought  else  than  himself.  He  feared.  Then  he 
thought :  Since  there  exists  nought  else  than  myself,  of  what 
am  I  afraid  ?  Then  vanished  his  fear."  But  we  need  not 
wonder  at  the  grossness  of  their  attempts  to  describe  the 
indescribable.  Rather  must  we  sympathize  with  the  simple 
pathos  of  their  search  after  the  unsearchable,  of  the  questions 
that  will  out^  whether  they  be  answerable  or  not. 

"  Teach  me,  exalted  one.  With  these  words  Narada 
presented  himself  reverently  before  Sanatkumara.  He  an- 
swered :  Present  thyself  before  me  with  that  which  thou 
knowest  already.  Then  will  I  teach  thee  further.  Narada 
said :  I  study,  exalted  one,  the  Rigveda,  the  Yajurveda,  the 
Samaveda,  the  Atharvaveda  as  the  fourth  and  the  Itihasa 
and  Purana  as  the  fifth  Veda ;  further,  the  Veda  of  the 
Vedas,  the  Pitrya  Ragi,  the  Daiva  Nidhi,  the  Vakovakya, 
the  Ekayana,  the  lore  of  the  gods,  of  the  priests,  of  the 
ghosts,  of  the  warriors,  of  the  stars,  of  the  serpents,  and  of 
the  genii.     This,  exalted  one,  I  study. 

"  Nevertheless,  exalted  one,  I  know  only  the  sacred  texts, 
not  the  Spirit.  For  I  have  heard  from  men  like  the  exalted 
one  that  he  who  knoweth  the  Spirit  crosseth  over  the  stream 
of  sorrow.  Yet  do  I  sorrow,  exalted  one.  So  let  the  exalted 
one  bring  me  across  to  the  farther  bank  of  the  stream  of 
sorrow."  —  One  may  almost  fancy  one's  self  in  the  study- 
chamber  of  Faust. 

And  here,  on  the  other  hand,  is  a  pendant  to  the  picture, 
^vetaketu  was  of  the  stock  of  Aruni.  To  him  spake  his 
father  :   ^vetaketu,  take  up  thy  life  as  a  student.     No  one 


22 

in  our  family,  for  lack  of  sacred  study,  is  ever  a  Brahman 
in  name  only.  —  So  at  twelve  years  of  age  he  betook  him 
to  the  teacher.  At  twenty-four  he  had  been  over  all  the 
Vedas,  and  returned  home  conceited,  puffed  up,  and  think- 
ing himself  learned.  To  him  spake  his  father :  Since  thou, 
my  son,  art  so  conceited  and  puffed  up,  and  thinkest  thyself 
so  learned,  thou  hast  doubtless  asked  and  got  the  teaching 
by  which  the  unheard  becomes  heard,  the  unthought  be- 
comes thought,  the  unknown  becomes  known.  —  Of  what 
sort  is  that  teaching,  reverend  sir  ?  —  And  his  father  pro- 
ceeds to  expound  the  hidden  doctrines. 

Such  are  the  questions.  And  the  answers  are  given  in 
allegories  which  illustrate  one  aspect  and  another  of  the 
Atman.  The  all-pervasiveness  of  the  yet  invisible  Atman 
is  thus  illustrated  to  (yvetaketu  by  his  father:  Put  this 
salt  into  water,  and  present  thyself  before  me  to-morrow 
morning.  The  son  did  so.  Then  spake  his  father :  Bring 
me  the  lump  of  salt  which  thou  didst  put  last  evening  in 
the  water.  He  felt  for  it,  but  found  it  not ;  it  seemed  to 
have  vanished.  Sip  from  this  side  of  the  vessel.  How  is 
it  ?  —  It  tastes  salt.  —  Sip  from  the  middle.  How  is  it  ? 
—  Salt.  —  Sip  from  yonder  side.  How  is  it  ?  —  Salt.  — 
Here  thou  seest  not  the  reality,  and  yet  it  is  therein. 

Or  again :  This  my  spirit  or  self  within  my  heart  is 
smaller  than  a  grain  of  rice,  or  a  barley-corn,  or  a  grain  of 
mustard-seed ;  smaller  than  a  grain  of  millet,  or  even  than  a 
husked  grain  of  millet.  It  is  greater  than  the  earth,  greater 
than  the  sky,  greater  than  heaven,  greater  than  all  the 
worlds.  In  it  all  works,  all  wishes,  all  odors  and  savors  are 
comprehended ;  it  embraces  the  universe ;  it  speaks  not ;  it 
is  indifferent.  This  is  my  spirit  within  my  heart ;  it  is 
Brahman.  Thereunto,  when  I  go  hence,  shall  I  attain. 
Thus  said  the  sage  ^a-^idilya. 

"  Verily  thou  art  a  God  that  hidest  thyself,"  we  read  in 
Isaiah.     And  time   and   again   we   see   these   ancient   sages 


answering  their  young  questioners  in  similar  tones.  "  This 
is  the  spirit  of  whom  they  say,  '  Not^  Not.''  As  incompre- 
hensible, it  is  not  comprehended.  As  indestructible,  it  is 
not  destroyed." 

The  great  practical  aim  of  all  this  teaching  is,  as  was  said 
before,  to  lead  to  the  realization  of  the  true  unity  of  the  soul 
and  the  Supreme  Soul,  —  and  this  by  exterminating  in  the 
soul  all  desires  and  activity,  root  and  branch.  Although 
the  soul  may  still,  for  a  little  while,  keep  on  acting,  it  is  only 
as  when  the  wheel  of  the  potter  keeps  on  revolving  after  the 
workman  has  ceased  to  turn  it.  As  water  runs  over  the  leaf 
of  a  lotus  without  wetting  it,  so  these  acts  no  longer  affect 
the  soul.  It  is  liberated  ;  and  death  can  only  do  away  what 
no  longer  exists  for  the  emancipated  soul,  the  last  false 
semblance  of  a  difference  between  it  and  the  Supreme. 

The  doctrine  of  the  absolute  unity  finds  perhaps  its  most 
striking  expression  in  Sanskrit  in  the  Katha  Upanishad  ;  but 
nowhere,  neither  in  Sanskrit  nor  in  English,  has  it  been  pre- 
sented with  more  vigor,  truthfulness,  and  beauty  of  form 
than  by  Emerson  in  his  famous  lines  paraphrasing  the  Sans- 
krit passage.  They  are  conceived  as  if  uttered  by  the  All- 
pervading  Spirit :  — 


Tf  the  red  slayer  think  he  slays, 
Or  if  the  slain  think  he  is  slain, 
They  know  not  well  the  subtle  ways 
I  keep,  and  pass,  and  turn  again. 

Far  or  forgot  to  me  is  near. 
Shadow  and  sunlight  are  the  same, 
The  vanished  gods  to  me  appear, 
And  one  to  me  are  shame  and  fame. 

They  reckon  ill  who  leave  me  out  ; 
When  me  they  fly,  I  am  the  wings  ; 
I  am  the  doubter  and  the  doubt, 
And  I  the  hymn  the  Brahmin  sings. 


24 

The  strong  gods  pine  for  my  abode, 
And  pine  in  vain  the  sacred  Seven  ; 
But  thou,  meek  lover  of  the  good  ! 
Find  me,  and  turn  thy  back  on  heaven. 

What  a  prospect,  dark  and  void,  —  this  Supreme  Spirit, 
before  whom  all  human  endeavor,  all  noble  ambition,  all 
hope,  all  love,  is  blighted!  What  a  contrast,  a  relief,  when 
we  turn  from  this  to  the  teachings  of  the  gentle  Nazarene ! 


HO/\AE    lice         P  '"'^ T.: 


ALL 


BOOKS 


"^^Ks  /M/vy  ^rr. ~ 


"""y  be  Rene 


oavs 


"'"'^  by  cof/,ng    "7^'  '^"''^  prior  ,o  the  du     . 


U.C  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


CD4b7bSfl7M 


/-^ 


UNIVERSiTV  OF  CAUFORNIA  UBRARY 


\^^*%- 


■  /■■> 

%-^'- 

A 

3 

■'■■>'t^4/ 

"l^v  i 

/>■           ^ 

>  ^ 


K  i.^' 


t   4. 


'^^^, 


I.  ■     ^,^ 


'Jt^' 


..>-*■ 


^'\. 


